


how good it can get

by playedwright



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, like.... this shit is SOFT, me @ sking and muschietti: look at me. look at me. this is my canon now, this is like. tooth achingly tender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24582538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playedwright/pseuds/playedwright
Summary: It always starts with a bottle of wine, doesn’t it? At least, that’s how it goes in romantic comedies. Not that Eddie ever expected his life to be a romantic comedy. He’s forty-one years old, for god’s sake. And gay. Romantic comedies aren’t made for him. But that’s still how they go, right? Two people in an unlikely situation, a little bit tipsy after sharing a bottle of one. Someone kisses someone. Someone says it’s a mistake. Someone lets it go forward anyway.Eddie might be off, considering he rarely watches romantic comedies, but still. This feels like a movie-made moment more than anything else in his life ever has. And they survived a killer clown from space.*or, the one where they've been in a relationship and haven't realized it.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 25
Kudos: 430





	how good it can get

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaspbee (fillory)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fillory/gifts).



> everyone say "thank you, [bee](https://twitter.com/kaspbee)" for asking for soft love confessions full of mutual trust. my heart burst with this prompt and i went buckwild
> 
> they all lived but don't ask me how you aren't here for that anyway lbr

They’ve been living together for eight months when Eddie realizes they’re in a relationship.

It’s such a mundane thing that sets the realization off, too. Richie and Eddie are just sitting on the couch, watching some show on HBO or whatever channel Richie had decided on before squirming into his spot on the couch and settling in there, when Richie makes the comment that he should have grabbed a glass of wine before getting comfortable.

Eddie’s up on his feet without thinking about it, easing out of his spot as much as he can being in his forties with bad knees and a bad back and a bad everything. Protests are already making their way out of Richie’s mouth but Eddie waves a dismissive hand in the air and squeezes Richie’s shoulder as he passes on his way to the kitchen. He’s halfway through pouring the glass for Richie when it strikes him.

_ Holy fuck, I think I’m dating Richie. _

He sets the bottle of wine down hard and stares at his distorted reflection in the microwave. Holy fuck. He’s dating Richie.

It always starts with a bottle of wine, doesn’t it? At least, that’s how it goes in romantic comedies. Not that Eddie ever expected his life to be a romantic comedy. He’s forty-one years old, for god’s sake. And  _ gay.  _ Romantic comedies aren’t made for him. But that’s still how they go, right? Two people in an unlikely situation, a little bit tipsy after sharing a bottle of one. Someone kisses someone. Someone says it’s a mistake. Someone lets it go forward anyway.

Eddie might be off, considering he rarely watches romantic comedies, but still. This feels like a movie-made moment more than anything else in his life ever has. And they survived a killer clown from  _ space. _

“Did you die?” Richie calls. “Trip and fall and gouge your eye out with a corkscrew?”

“Why are you so fucking morbid?” Eddie calls back.

“Bitch, do you even remember what we survived?”

Eddie tilts his head, considering. “Fair enough,” he mutters. He tops off Richie’s glass then pours one for himself before putting the bottle away and making his way back into the living room.

_ Their  _ living room. Because Eddie lives here now, with Richie. Has lived here for eight months. Hell, he picked out the couch that Richie has curled himself onto. He picked the fucking painting they hung on the wall.

Richie picked the restaurant the last time they went out. They split a bottle of wine, then, too. Richie wore a blazer. Eddie picked up the check. Eddie picked the last movie they saw in theaters. Richie’s fingers gripped his forearm during the scary bits. Last month they went to a farmer’s market. The weekend before that, Eddie somehow convinced Richie to go  _ antiquing  _ with him. Riche had hardly even teased him about how cliché Eddie was for suggesting it.

They split a hotel room the last time they flew out to Atlanta to see Stan and Patty. They shared a bed, that trip. The trip before that, out to Chicago to visit Ben and Beverly, they shared a room with two beds. They brushed their teeth together, sharing space and knocking elbows. Richie fell asleep first, while they were watching tv. Eddie had gotten out of bed, taken Richie’s glasses off and gently placed them on the table before climbing back into his bed and falling into a rare, dreamless sleep.

Jesus. Have they been dating for  _ months?  _ Does Richie even know?

Richie is making grabby hands at him before he even comes around from the back of the couch. Eddie hands him his glass, but something in his heart lurches when Richie keeps another hand up, offering to take Eddie’s glass while Eddie settles back into the couch. “Took you long enough,” Richie gripes. He takes a sip from his glass.

“I never would have pegged you as a wine guy.”

“You say that every time I drink wine.”

“Oh, forgive me for taking one look at you ever and assuming you were a bourbon guy.”

“I can be a bourbon guy and a wine guy. I’m gay, I’m allowed to have more than one personality trait.” Richie grins at him, while Eddie sits down. In a fit of bravery or insanity, Eddie brings his legs up on the couch too and turns until he can tuck his feet underneath Richie’s thigh. Richie doesn’t even bat an eyelash at it, and maybe that’s what seals the deal. Maybe that’s what gives Eddie the push that he needs to say something. Maybe he would have said it anyway, but the way that Richie’s smile goes soft even as he tries to hide it behind his wine glass really just solidifies Eddie’s need to  _ say something. _

“Hey, Rich?” Eddie murmurs. He digs a toe up into Richie’s thigh to get Richie to look at him. Richie makes an indignant sound and turns to glare at Eddie, and the second that Richie’s eyes are on him, something in Eddie’s chest swells spectacularly. “Hi.”

Richie’s brow smooths out. He smiles again, still stupid soft. Eddie’s heart is a jackhammer against his ribs. “Hi,” Richie says back.

“Hi,” Eddie repeats. He can feel his cheeks flush.

“You said that already,” Richie points out.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “Are you gonna do anything about it?”

Richie’s grin is goofy and unrestrained. Eddie could fill a filing cabinet with notes on all of Richie’s smiles. They’re endless. He sees a new one each day, even after all this time. He’s been cataloguing it for months. God, how did he go so long without noticing this? How did he ever believe there was a universe for him and Richie where they didn’t end up here? With a waggle of his eyebrows, Richie asks, “Do you  _ want  _ me to do something about it?”

There had been a moment, a month after Eddie had moved in, two nights after he had come out, that Eddie had thought,  _ maybe.  _ When they celebrated with some fruity blended drink Richie threw together like they were twenty years old and not middle aged. When they put Cyndi Lauper on over the speakers and flailed about the room and shouted along at the top of their lungs and called it dancing. When Eddie crashed into Richie’s chest and Richie’s arms went around him to steady him and they were both giggly and drunk and  _ young  _ and carefree in a way they’d really never had a chance to be before. Eddie had thought,  _ maybe. _

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? His feelings for Richie have been a quiet presence in his life for as long as he’s been living. An impulse as ingrained in him as breathing. As walking. And Richie had looked down at him with a dopey smile, and Eddie had thought  _ maybe,  _ and he’d gone to bed feeling content that  _ maybe  _ was enough for now.

Hell,  _ maybe  _ is still enough. It doesn’t terrify him, the thought of putting himself out there, of asking Richie for more, because he’s confident that regardless of what happens, Richie isn’t going anywhere.

“I’ve always wanted you to do something about it,” Eddie answers finally. With Richie’s eyes still on him, he takes a smooth sip of his wine. “So? Are you gonna do anything about it?”

“Eds,” Richie says. There’s a flicker in his smile. Subtle, but it’s there. A slight upcurve. Not much more than a twitch. Like he wants to smile broader but he refuses to let himself hope.

“Rich,” Eddie mimics back. He digs his toes up into Richie’s thigh again.

“Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?” Richie breathes. He looks like he can’t believe he’s asking it. Like he can’t believe what  _ Eddie  _ is asking. Hell, there’s a chance they’ve both been pushing for this without even knowing it, and that thought puts butterflies in Eddie’s stomach.

“Do you have feelings for me, Richie?” Eddie asks, straight to the point. No more beating around the bush. He wasted years of his life not going after what he wants, and he won’t anymore.

Richie sets his glass of wine down on the coffee table. “You first.”

“Seriously?” Eddie says around a laugh. “Are you a child? I have to go first?”

“I’m not saying anything until your heart is on the line, Kaspbrak!” Richie insists. “The one time I’m willing to let him talk first, and he clams up. Unbelievable.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up. Idiot. My heart’s always been on the line when it comes to you. I wear it on my fucking sleeve around you, Rich. Ever since we were kids. Before we came back, before I came out. Tell me you can see it.”

When Richie looks at him, it’s like he’s really looking. Searching Eddie for evidence that his heart is on his sleeve or in his hands or beating loudly out of his chest. Whatever it’s saying, Richie’s the only one looking to listen.

“Since we were kids?” Richie repeats.

“Since we were kids,” Eddie promises.

“Fuck, Eds,” Richie whispers, and that’s all the warning Eddie gets before Richie lurches forward and kisses Eddie. He grabs a fistful of Eddie’s shirt to haul him forward, a smooth motion despite the urgency. He kisses Eddie like he’s been waiting his whole life to do so.

And hell, maybe he has. They  _ both  _ have. Who is Eddie kidding?

Somehow, in the midst of running his tongue against Richie’s bottom lip and encouraging him to deepen the kiss, Eddie shifts forward enough that he can set down his own glass of wine and grab onto Richie’s shoulders with both hands free. It’s an awkward angle, with Richie still facing forward and Eddie facing him entirely, but it’s still the most perfect kiss Eddie’s ever had. The most perfect kiss he ever  _ will  _ have. Until the next time Richie kisses him. Or the time after that, or the time after that, or so on and so forth. And god, Eddie hopes there’s a so on and so forth.

“I love you,” Eddie says, heart on his sleeve and in his mouth and cradled in Richie’s hands. There’s no question as to whether or not he means it with every fiber of his being.

“I love you,” Richie says breathlessly. Wondrously. His free hand comes up to stroke Eddie’s cheek. He’s kiss-drunk and starstruck and he looks so goddamn in love that Eddie wants to bottle it up in a jar and take it with him everywhere he goes.

  
Richie Tozier  _ loves  _ him. It’s more than Eddie could have ever asked for out of this life. It’s everything he could have ever wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://rchtoziers.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/SPACERICHlE) if you want to come say hello!


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